


Aesthetics

by chaosu



Series: Random Drabbles [14]
Category: Bleach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosu/pseuds/chaosu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was just too technical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aesthetics

Characters: Kurotsuchi Nemu, Abarai Renji

* * *

Nemu felt the brush on the canvas. She felt it, every bristle, the rough surface of the canvas, every stroke that she made. She felt it, the control that her hand so waited to be free from, a subtle shaking, the minute desire to break free, to move unhindered and without purpose. But, no, that was the purpose. She had to control it, to know it in such a degree that she could master it. It wasn't that she lacked the control, far from it. She loved it, lived it, reveled in it. She was in control.

But something was missing. She knew something was missing, as she stepped back and viewed her work. For the life of her she could never get it right. There was something missing, and she didn't know what. She had a clue however, but it was less than useful. She knew that that something was the thing that separated talent from genius.

She wanted her art to move, to touch, to make you feel things, to suck you into their world and keep your mind captive in their spell. She wanted something like that. Ambitious, no? But it was difficult. The medium, there was no problem, as long as you had complete mastery of it, which she had, for that matter. The finesse was rather more difficult. You needed to know what each stroke evoked, what kinds of emotions they call forth, and how to mix it to make the art deeper and more complete. Finding a suitable subject that would also be as hard, since you would have to find something that would have to symbolically mean what you want to convey, to show what you want to say.

The entire thing wasn't easy. Sometimes, for Nemu, a single proper uncommissioned art went for days, weeks, months, but the longest took a year. And it wasn't because of the commissioned work, or the plates she had to do for her college program. While she wasn't fond of doing commissioned works and plates, she could do plates in a day, if the materials allow. It was easier to make plates, because the objective is stated, the materials, also provided for, and the subject ready. But for personal work, you'd have to struggle alone. And being alone, sometimes, you reach for unreachable.

"Your art lacks character," her teacher had once told her. "I can't feel you from it. Where are you? What do you feel for it?" She already knew that of course. As she looked back at her work. She couldn't also feel anything from it. Not anything, no nothing. Where was she when it was created? What does she feel for it? She had no idea. She didn't know what she lacked.

"You've got the image down pat," a voice spoke. She turned to find a red-locked, tattooed boy watching her work. "Sorry, I ju-"

"It's fine," she interrupted turning back to her work. She sighed to herself. "Tell me, what do you see?"

"You're too technical, too precise," he murmured approaching the woman. "It's beautiful-"

"But there's nothing in it," she muttered.

"Break the rules a little. Bend them a bit," he shrugged, smirking in the process. "You don't have to perfectly portray them." She looked back at him in shock. "Live a little. Have no fear. You need to deliver a message to someone right? You have to change it a bit to suit the message."

"Renji-kun," a feminine voice called out. "Let's go. I'm sure Ichigo and the rest are already waiting for us."

"Yeah," he replied. Turning back to Nemu, he grinned, "Well see you around." before walking to the busty woman who has waiting for him by the doorway. Nemu watched him until she couldn't see him, couldn't hear his footsteps.

"Maybe he's right," she murmured, as she lifted her brush again.


End file.
